


The Prince and the Chaucer

by Vyola



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1627835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyola/pseuds/Vyola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaucer drinks with Sir Thomas Coleville.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince and the Chaucer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for llassah

 

 

Geoffrey Chaucer lifted his mug and tipped it over his mouth. Only a few drops fell out, adding another layer of stains to a shirt already the worse for wear. "How can I be expected to regale such a noble company with brilliant and insightful tales of great valor, moral instruction --"

"Don't forget intemperance," Kate interrupted.

"Impiety," Roland added.

"Inebriation!" Wat opened one eye but didn't bother to lift his head from its sodden resting place on the table.

"-- intemperance, impiety and inebriation, while my throat is as parched as the sands of Araby?" He looked at his friends expectantly. About them, the crowd filling the Tabard Inn drank and ate and caroused. Their own table, comfortably near the roaring fire, was covered with the remains of a hearty dinner.

Sighing, Roland fumbled in his pouch and pulled out a coin. "All right. I'll stand this round."

"Innkeep!" Geoff roared out in his best center of the stadium tones. "Harry, good host, good fellow, we require further libations." He snatched the florin from Roland's palm and gestured expansively, making the silver glitter in the inn's guttering candlelight.

The host hurried over to their table, a flagon in either hand.

"Long will you remember -- thank you, Harry -- long will you remember this night, Harry. Today William, son of John Thatcher of Cheapside, became Sir William Thatcher in front of all of London and tonight his team chooses _your_ tavern for their celebration."

"You tell 'im, Geoff." Roland bumped his newly-filled mug against Geoff's, nearly showering Harry with ale.

With the deftness of long experience, the innkeeper dodged the spray and moved to serve Kate. "Oh, he has, good sir. All night long."

"I don't think you properly appreciate your brush with greatness, Harry." Geoff drank deeply. "Though your ale deserves that title, too." He drank again, then paused, struck by a thought. "You should put up a plaque."

"To my ale, sir?"

"God, no. To William, _Sir_ William, and his valiant team of loyal squires, dauntless blacksmiths, and most extraordinary heralds. I can see it now. 'They Drank Here.'"

Pleased, he finished off his mug.

Roland snorted. Kate just sighed and took a sip.

"Oh, you can string words together better'n the priest on Sundays, sir." Harry shook his head appreciatively. "Let me know if you need anything more." He bobbed his head and headed for another table eager for his attention.

Wat sat up suddenly. "I like it." He blinked owlishly, apparently surprised to find himself upright, then, his eyes closing again, slowly began to tilt to the side.

Kate put up a hand, pushing Wat upright. He balanced there for a moment, then toppled to the other side, ending up snoring limply against Roland's shoulder.

"And that's bedtime, then," Roland announced. "I'll take this one safely back to camp." He stood, pulling Wat up with him.

"Another round, Kate?" Geoff asked hopefully.

She stood, smoothing her dress. "Nah, I've had enough. I'll give Roland a hand. Goodnight, Geoff."

"G'night, Geoff," Roland echoed. "C'mon, lass. You steer, else I'll knock 'im into half the crowd and he'll be fonging strangers in his sleep."

"Sleep well, friends." Geoff watched them go. "And I'll drink to us all on my own. No sense letting these fine beverages go to waste."

He downed what was left of Kate's cup and started on Wat's when a hand came down on his shoulder.

"May I join you?"

Startled, Geoff looked up.

Edward, Black Prince of England, looked down.

He was wearing the same dark cloak he had that morning, when he had come to the stocks and with simple words, but commanding presence, transformed William forever.

Geoff could find it in himself to begrudge Edward that presence. He had the crowd's attention before he even said a word. Geoff had to get their attention with his words.

On the other hand, once he had that attention, he knew he'd earned it through sheer talent.

"Master Chaucer?"

"Oh! Forgive me, your grace. Please. I'd be honored." Geoff pushed the worst of the empty mugs and plates aside and gestured to an empty seat.

The prince sat, shrugging the cloak off his shoulders. He did not bear the lions and lilies that proclaimed his rank. So perhaps --

"Am I drinking with Sir Thomas Coleville tonight?"

"Quick as ever. On a day like today, when a thatcher's son can be Champion, surely a... humble knight can sit with a friend."

There was something about the way he said _friend_ that caught Geoff's ear. He thought of his introduction in the stadium. Standing on the rail, climbing the dais and planting himself boldly upon the very arms of Edward's chair. Feeling, even while caught up in the drama of William's victory, the weight of Edward's eyes upon him.

"A friend, Sir Thomas?" Geoff gave the word a mocking lilt. "Friends generally have something in common, a shared interest. Are we united in a mutual fondness for the joust then?"

Edward leaned in, his words meant for Geoff alone. "A man in my position must concern himself with all manner of things. And have you yourself not said that all human activity lies within the artist's scope? I'd wager that we could share many interests."

A gamble, but for a return scarcely to be dreamt. Still, Geoff never could leave well alone. He had to ask.

"And what of your lovely wife?"

"Joan is all a man could desire in a wife. She knows why I enter the tourney. She understands my need to prove myself as just a man among men."

Geoff smirked. "The lady is a paragon, indeed. And your sudden interest in literature, would she understand that?"

The scar under Edward's eye twisted, accentuating the laugh lines that appeared as he smiled. "What I have, I hold. My wife knows well her worth to me, regardless of what other fields I may venture upon.

"And now, Master Chaucer," the prince said, standing and pulling his cloak about him, "I am retiring for the night. I am reliably informed that the bedding in the third room on the left was changed just this morning and is considered to be free of both vermin and mites."

Anonymous once more, no one gave him a second glance as he crossed the room and disappeared upstairs.

Geoff considered for a moment.

He drained his mug. Set in down in the damp, sticky circle on the table. And carefully, casually, stood up and made his way to the stairs.

A man can change his stars, even if just for a night.

Or a knight.

 

 

 


End file.
